


love is the one thing you can keep

by zenelly



Category: Kingdom Hearts
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Eventual Axel/Roxas (Kingdom Hearts), Fluff, M/M, Misunderstandings, Mutual Pining, Past Axel/Saïx (Kingdom Hearts), because demyx has, have you ever been ten years late to asking your boyfriend out, past Demyx/Axel (Kingdom Hearts, ten year anniversary fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-23
Updated: 2019-09-23
Packaged: 2020-10-18 11:13:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20638223
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zenelly/pseuds/zenelly
Summary: Demyx believes in Grand Romance. From what the universe is telling him, though, Grand Romance doesn’t believe in him.orTen years into a mostly accidental relationship, Demyx realizes he wants to leave. This is the healing, the rediscovery of an old flame, the settling back into friends, the realization that sometimes you can see the fork in the road clearer when you're out of the woods and that you can walk across the field now to get to the path you want to be on as long as you're not afraid to get your shoes wet in the process.Zexion hasn't always been waiting but he's always been here.





	love is the one thing you can keep

**Author's Note:**

> So this fic is... actually very special to me.
> 
> This is my ten year anniversary fic!
> 
> Ten years ago, I posted my very first fanfic to ff.net. It was a college AU zemyx fic that i'm sure some people out there have read, and it is now so charmingly clumsy in its execution. Like watching a baby deer trying to get its legs underneath itself. But so many people were so kind about it that I just kept writing. And kept writing. And kept writing, and now here we are. Ten years later, still writing, still writing fanfic. I'm not gonna make this too long, but i just wanted to say a heartfelt "thank you" to anyone who has ever commented on/kudosed/appreciated ANYONE'S work because it means a lot to us authors. We try our best on our own, but seeing everyone's reactions is so motivating.
> 
> Thank you for sticking with me all this time.
> 
> Here's to another ten years.
> 
> Title from Andrea Gibson's poem "Love note for the leaving"

Despite all evidence to the contrary - (“What evidence to the contrary?” Marluxia bitches, Larxene scowling at him to keep his nails still while they dry, “This is something everyone knows about you on sight. You’re transparent at best.”)- , Demyx is a romantic.

He likes the big gestures and the pet names and the month-iversaries and the whole shebang. Give him a scene from a romcom and he can quote it line for line, dramatic gestures and real tears included. There’s something awfully sincere about the swell of music in the background, of tearful confessions and passionate apologies, something that hits him right in his core, bright and thrumming.

For all of that, though…

For all that Demyx believes in romance and true love, believes he wants it for himself, the reality of those big gestures and meaningful words make him feel a little trapped. Performative. Maybe, he thinks, as he tapes up the last box and sets it to the side, the problem is that romance doesn't believe in him.

“Are you sure there’s nothing I can do to convince you to stay?”

Demyx’s hands still where they fidget with an open hole in his jeans. He meets Axel’s red-rimmed eyes with an apologetic smile that feels wrong to the both of them. “I’m sure, Axel. This is… I’m not gonna say it’s “what’s best,” but it’s what I want.”

Axel drops his gaze, sinking in on himself. Demyx breathes through the corresponding crumple in his chest, breathes through the urge to go over and wrap his hand around the back of Axel’s neck, tilting him up for the same kind of kiss they’ve shared for the last ten years. He can’t do that anymore. It sucks. Breaking the habit of physical contact with Axel, with his _best friend_, is the worst thing he’s ever had to do.

Well.

Aside from breaking Axel’s heart, anyway.

Letting out a wet sounding laugh, Axel straightens and pushes his hair back from his face. “Yeah, you’re right. You. Take care of yourself, will you? Just because we aren’t-“ and his throat works as Axel’s voice breaks, “- y’know. Together. Or whatever. Anymore. We’re still friends, so. Look after yourself.”

“You too, Axel,” says Demyx.

He sits back on his heels. Looking around at _their_ apartment, now only _Axel’s_, at all the bare spots on the walls where Demyx’s band posters hung, and the gaping hole in their living room where his piano used to be. His life used to be here, twined so completely with Axel’s that it seems, still, somehow impossible that they separated them at all.

That is, he supposes, kind of the point.

“I’m gonna miss this place.”

“Not as much as you’ll miss me, that’s for sure,” says Axel with a laugh, or a close approximation of one anyway, and Demyx’s mouth quirks up in a reflexive smile.

“Of course I’m gonna miss you, dude. You and me, we’re still best friends. Or…”

Axel jumps in when Demyx trails off. “Friends, at least. Maybe not best for a little bit, until the dust settles, but. Friends, for sure.” They stand there for a moment, and then Axel shakes himself, kneeling to grab a small box. “Come on, let’s get the last of this out.”

“Y-Yeah. Yeah.”

Cloud is securing the last of the luggage in the trailer as Axel and Demyx approach. He gives the two of them a look, searching between them before deciding to not make a big deal of it as he accepts the box from Axel and then the one from Demyx. Axel turns to Demyx. His mouth opens. Shuts. It is a miserable moue of sadness, the corners of his lips pulled down, and even Axel’s disheveled hair, pulled haphazardly back into a ponytail, can’t bring a smile to Demyx’s face because this time, it’s _his_ fault.

“You- You good, Axel? Hey, you’re gonna be okay, alright?”

Axel nods jerkily, but doesn’t meet his gaze, his eyes glassy with tears. “Yeah, I’m gonna be fine, Dem. Don’t you worry.”

Demyx-

Demyx almost links their fingers together, almost pulls Axel close to smell the woodsmoke and citrus of his skin one more time, face buried in the crook of his neck where Demyx knows he fits best, almost ruins this because they _are_ friends, and Demyx hates seeing Axel this sad.

(Which is how they ended up like this in the first place. There is nothing worse than the downturn of his best friend’s mouth, but-. But.)

His hand drops. Axel sees it. They both know he does, and when Demyx breathes out and takes a step back, Axel watches him go.

“I’ll see you around, Axel. Text me?”

“Yeah.” Axel nods. Once, and then again, firmer. “Yeah. Let me know when you get there safe, ba-.. Dem.”

“I will.” Demyx swallows back a reflexive “_I love you_,” but Axel, flinching back, must hear it anyway, or hears its absence even sharper the way Demyx does. “I’ll… yeah. See you, Axel.”

And he takes a step back.

And he is done.

Demyx closes the car door behind him. Final, but incomprehensible. That apartment has been his home for the last six years. It’s somehow impossible to believe that he’ll never live there again.

Impossible to believe that somehow, he’ll be alive without Axel _right there_. Impossible and somehow… relieving.

Demyx steadies his breath, lifts his face to the sun. Nowhere to go but up, he tells himself, because the alternative is listening to his heart telling him he’s making a huge mistake, the biggest mistake of his life, and Demyx has always been a coward. But he’s so tired of living the same life he has been living, with the person he’s been living with. None of it is Axel’s fault.

Demyx knows, after all, exactly how they ended up the way they did. Saw it coming. Did nothing.

He does up his buckle and nods at Cloud. His cousin regards him without saying anything, fingers tapping on the steering wheel. He must find whatever it is he’s looking for on Demyx’s face, because all he does is nod and pull away from the front of the apartment complex. “Alright, let’s get you set up in your room. Leon will meet us over there-“

Letting Cloud’s quiet, logistical chatter wash over him, Demyx closes his eyes to the hot sting of tears. His fingers trail in the cool air outside the car.

His heart beats inside his ribcage, and it’s difficult to remember that it’s right here, it’s right here, and not standing forlornly on the sidewalk, red hair whipping in the wind as Cloud’s car disappears down the road. Demyx’s heart is all his own again.

Cloud very unsubtly shoots him a glance, and then signals to take the next exit, heading for Demyx’s favorite in-town restaurant, the diner Xigbar runs. “Y'know what? Let’s get some food first, my treat. Then we’ll move you back home, alright? I've got you. We've got you. ”

Not trusting his voice, Demyx nods, grateful in the hurt-bright core of himself. Then, softly. “Thanks.”

“No problem,” Cloud says. His palm is rough against the back of Demyx’s neck, but it grounds him. “This is what family is for. You’ll be alright. You’ll see.”

* * *

He isn’t. Alright, that is. Not for a while at least.

Wait, no that isn’t… that isn’t quite right either. Really, Demyx is fine. On the outside. Because at first, Demyx feels like a pumpkin.

No no, hear him out.

Demyx feels like a jack-o-lantern. Hollow and scooped out, scraped clean of everything that made him good, wearing a smile carved by force across his face. Rotting a little on the inside, though everyone is polite enough not to mention it until it becomes unavoidable.

(“Get up and take a _shower_, Demyx,” Marluxia says, wrinkling his nose at the pile of laundry Demyx is under. “Please, dear god. You shouldn't let your hygiene slip like this just because you’re not getting laid on a regular basis.”

“We can’t all have twelve-step skin routines, Marluxia,” says Demyx from underneath his questionably clean socks. He sniffs. Grimaces. Less questionably clean, more unquestionably dirty. Marluxia may have a point.)

He’s crying himself to sleep more nights than he’s not, and it-

It fucking sucks, okay?

“You broke up with him for a reason, Demyx,” says Cloud, regarding him with that same oddly irate patience that he always has. “You two are better as friends. You called me in tears because you _thought_ he went ring shopping and you didn’t want to get married to him. Remember that?”

Demyx lets out a watery groan, rubbing at the raw edges of his eyes. “I know! I know, I just. I miss him. He’s my best friend, and we haven’t spoken in two months because it hurts too much. And what if it was a mistake? What if I should’ve stuck it out and-“

“Do you _hear_ yourself? Here’s what no one tells you:” says Leon, putting a cup of coffee on the table in front of Demyx, who takes it morosely. He takes a sip and - blegh. _Blegh_. All coffee, no hot chocolate, no sugar, nothing to ameliorate it into something drinkable. Leon does not look sympathetic when Demyx turns puppy eyes on him. “You can love someone and still not be right for each other. You guys were together for a while. Great. But when you thought about the future, you didn't think about marriage and Axel did. You did both of you a favor by keeping it clean. Divorces are expensive.”

“Like you’d know, Mr. Married Couple,” Demyx mutters into his bitter coffee, which doesn’t even have the decency to be burnt the way Axel would have made it.

It is hard to move past someone who isn’t bad for you but isn’t _right_ for you, who is your best, best friend that you have lived with and loved in every aching way for ten years. All beds are too big and don’t smell right. Demyx is used to hearing Axel’s atonal singing in the morning, used to scraping himself up and getting some last minute cuddles before Axel has to leave and Demyx can steal the last of his slightly over-done coffee. For the first few months, missing that is a gut punch, a staggering realization that he’s lost something he thought, somehow, he’d always have.

(How, exactly, do you go about telling your cousin’s husband that he makes coffee too well? Demyx hasn’t figured it out yet, and Leon’s cocked eyebrow is far too intimidating for him to really make an attempt.)

Cloud pats his arm. “We know because we _are_ the Misters Married Couple. Breathe deep. Maybe go outside for a bit today. It’s been months. You can go places that aren’t work, you know. And if you’re afraid of running into Axel, then you can go somewhere he wouldn’t go.”

“Maybe,” Demyx prevaricates. “But… maybe I’ll just…”

A hand comes down on his hair, and Demyx squawks. He pouts up at Roxas, who looks entirely unimpressed. “Go outside. Please. Please go out. If you want to make sure that you won’t run into Axel, I can go over to his place and make sure he’s at home the whole time.”

Demyx winces. “You sure? I feel… kinda bad, making you run interference like that.”

“Axel’s my friend too, y’know,” Roxas mutters as he steals Demyx’s mug of coffee and takes a long sip. “I don’t mind getting to spend time with him.”

“I’m sure you don’t,” says Cloud mildly. “See, Demyx? Nothing to be worried about. Axel will be at home, no chance of you two running into each other. Go outside. Breathe air. At least look at a vegetable or something. Think about your life.”

“I thought you wanted me to be _happy_,” says Demyx, but he stands anyway. He contemplates the coffee Roxas stole from him for a moment before shrugging and pouring himself a travel mug of hot chocolate. If he doesn’t look over at Leon’s nose wrinkling, that means it isn’t happening, and Roxas gets to keep his stolen coffee, which is good. His little cousin (hardly little anymore, all of twenty-four and with a real person job) seems delighted by this turn of events.

Roxas, right before Demyx leaves, calls out. “Hey, Demyx? Have fun, will you?”

* * *

Upon further reflection, going to a bookstore was probably not what Roxas meant. It’s not even what Demyx would normally do. Normally, Demyx would be at a café, or a bar, or the _beach_, or the zoo, or somewhere he could be loud. Not somewhere his words catch in his throat.

Demyx fidgets in the aisles, his steps slow and deliberate as he scans the spines on the shelves without really seeing them. Coffee and vanilla linger in the air, hovering beside the quiet susurrus of voices and a muffled chill jazz cover of what Demyx is pretty sure is a rather obscene rap song. Not that he’s judging. Just that he’s a little confused.

He doesn't know why he bothered coming here.

Letting out a sigh, he closes his eyes. It’s to make his family happy. It’s to see the outside again and breathe new air. It’s getting him out of his rut. It’s to heal, to test to closure of the yawning gap of Axel’s absence in his life.

It is-

_-not_ to run into someone, knocking them both to the ground, but since it’s Demyx, that’s exactly what happens.

“Shit, shit, I am so sorry,” says Demyx, stuttering his way through the words as he ignores his stinging palms, rocking forward onto his knees. Not only has he knocked over a harmless stranger, he also knocked over the entirety of their selection thus far, and they had enough books to make Demyx feel bad for picking out exactly none for himself. “I’m so sorry, are you-“

A hand brushes over his. Long fingered, knobby at the knuckles but still slim, a silver ring around the thumb, and Demyx stills.

He knows that ring. The lotus engraving on it is worn and missing the black enamel that used to be inside it, but he picked it out himself at a farmer's market one spring morning right before they graduated. He had given it to-

“Somehow,” a very, very familiar voice says, “it’s comforting to know that you still babble when you’re nervous. It’s alright. I’m fine. You didn’t bump me that hard.”

“You,” says Demyx, dumbfounded, flabbergasted, all a manner of words that escape him at the moment because his brain is leaking from his ears at the sight of the man in front of him. Because it's Zexion. Zexion's voice coming from Zexion's mouth set in Zexion's face. A soft mouth, pale pink and parted just enough for a peek at his tongue, set below a gently sloping nose and an angular, almost cat-like pair of bright blue eyes that Demyx hasn’t seen in years beneath a sweep of slate hair. Demyx’s heart skips, then beats harder, steady, steady, a thrumming bassline in his bones.

Zexion smiles at him, a familiar, half-quirked thing, as he picks up the book Demyx’s suddenly nerveless fingers stalled out on. “Me.”

Then he straightens, and Demyx stands with him, books in hand. Zexion is the same, and isn’t the same. The traces of the person Demyx once knew in college are there, all over him, the framework that this new piece of art has filled, a new melody over a familiar beat. He’s gotten sharper, Demyx thinks. Or. More formed, somehow. Settled. Better.

(More attractive? Which seemed laughably impossible. If asked fifteen minutes ago about Zexion, Demyx would have flushed and giggled a little and passed off the squirm in his gut as a familiar crush on his college chemistry partner who he hasn’t seen in years but has fond memories of, but it has now been proven to be frighteningly true. More attractive. Zexion, what the fuck. Who allowed this? Demyx needs to have _words_.)

Gently, Zexion says, “Hello, Demyx. It’s good to see you again.”

And because Demyx is and has always been a dumbass, he replies, “Do you believe in love at first sight?”

Zexion blinks. Twice. Three times. Quick. Then tilts his head to the side, long fringe following the movement, slender fingers tapping at the spine of the books in his hands. “I believe in attraction at first sight. Love, the true spirit of it, takes a little longer in my experience, though that length of time is arbitrary and different for everyone. I, for instance, do not love at first sight. You, on the other hand, I believe might.”

“What makes you say that?”

“Demyx, you used to tell me how much you loved all of your customers at the campus coffee shops.” Demyx stares helplessly as the dimple in Zexion’s left cheek makes an appearance. He loves that dimple. He missed that dimple. It shouldn’t be surprising that it’s still there after all these years, but it is. “If you can love someone when you’re suffering through coffee shop hell, you can love anyone at any time.”

Ah shit, he’s been staring.

Luckily, Zexion seems like he’s taking that in stride, the way he always has when it comes to Demyx, and he’s… not exactly not-staring in return. His eyes search Demyx’s face, drop to his neck, shoulders, lower, a thorough casing. Demyx hopes he’s passing muster, wonders if this is Zexion cataloguing all of his differences, and wonders if he’s imagining the way Zexion’s gaze lingers on his bare ring finger.

Coughing, Demyx scrubs the back of his neck. “So. Are you in town again? Just visiting, or…?”

“Permanently,” says Zexion. “I finally convinced my company to let me transfer to the local branch. I’m staying, this time.”

He can’t fight the rush of squirming excitement he feels at that, eagerness wriggling through his entire body as he rocks up on the balls of his feet, down to his heels. “That’s great! Fantastic really! I really. I really think I missed you, Zexion.”

“Only think?”

“I mean, I _know_, because I missed you a whole lot, Zexy.” Demyx swallows back his next breath, hiccupping its way into a near-heavy sob that he barely keeps steady. His lungs seize, burn with the truth of it, and his fingers go white-knuckled around the spine of the books in his hands. “I missed you.”

“I'm sure a lot has happened. We should catch up sometime,” says Zexion, each word deliberate and weighty.

“Yeah, we absolutely should. Whenever you want, really. I’m. Not nearly as busy as I could be, and I’m sure Cloud would love to have me out of his house.”

Zexion tilts his head a little at that. “You’re not … still living with Axel?”

Coffeshop sounds filter in, and Demyx registers, a little distantly, that the unoffending jazz music has moved on from rap covers to gospel music, soulful and secure in its place in the universe, the murmur of hushed conversations. His heartbeat. One, one-two. Heavy and unsteady.

(The scab is in place. The scar tissue aches and pulls with the stretch.)

Then Demyx says, “I broke up with Axel.”

Before him, Zexion goes carefully still. “Oh? That’s- Did you- Are you…” then, he exhales sharply, a reset before trying again. “I’m sorry, Demyx.”

Demyx shrugs with a lightness he does not entirely feel. “It wasn’t really all that recent. Just a few months ago. I'm fine, really. We're still friends.”

Whatever it is that Zexion wants to say, he swallows it back in favor of readjusting the books in his arms, shuffling the middle of the stack to the top. Demyx gives him the time to formulate his words, just as he used to before, falling back into this habit with the relief of renewing an old ritual, familiar and safe.

“Forgive my presumption, but you still seem upset about what happened. For that, for the distress it’s causing you, I’m sorry.” His gaze flicks from Demyx’s eyes to his hands, fluttering uselessly at his sides, back up, before a slow, amused smile crosses his face. “Give me your number, Demyx. We won’t be able to get in contact otherwise, and then how else am I supposed to get on Cloud’s good side?”

“Hey,” Demyx protests, a little weak in the knees with relief, a little weak in the throat with everything else. “Don’t use me just to get close to Cloud.”

“Your cousin is hot and I have exquisite taste,” says Zexion primly. "One day, my velvet words will make him leave Leon for me and then you will all realize."

Zexion leaves a few minutes later with Demyx's new phone number saved. He has books piled up to his chin as he makes his way to the register. He’s slightly cross-eyed from trying to see past them, and Demyx, clutching the nearest bookshelf, feels an unfortunately tell-tale stutter of his heart, a flush of heat he thought he had buried years ago.

“_Oh no_,” Demyx thinks, a little helpless. “_Oh no_.”

* * *

**FROM: Unknown Number  
**Hello, Demyx

**TO: Unknown Number**  
uh hey lol  
not to be entirely weird but  
who dis?

**FROM: Unknown Number**  
Ah.  
Do you frequently get texts from new numbers?  
This is Zexion.

**TO: Zexy! ~<3**  
oh heeeyyy!!!!!  
nah I don’t get that many, I just  
uh  
look so there may have been an incident with a bathroom and things that Marluxia consider funny that aren’t actually funny at all  
so to answer ur question  
yes, actually

**FROM: Zexy~<3**  
That… makes a frightening amount of sense.  
Why haven’t you changed your number?  
Wait.

**TO: Zexy~<3  
**lol

**FROM: Zexy~<3  
**Please tell me it’s not because the last digits of your number are 4200.

**TO: Zexy~<3  
**#BLAZEIT

**FROM: Zexy~<3  
**You are a disaster.

**TO: Zexy~<3**  
I sure am!!!!!!!!  
but a disaster who knows exactly where my boundaries r lol  
sure you still wanna catch up?

**FROM: Zexy~<3**  
Oh Demyx.  
This is by far not the worst thing I have known you to do.

**TO: Zexy~<3**  
what’s that supposed to mean???  
I am the epitaph of grace n beauty n I have never done anything wrong in my life ever

**FROM: Zexy~<3  
**I believe you meant to say “epitome”, but I know this and I love you.

**FROM: Zexy~<3  
**Demyx?

**FROM: Zexy~<3  
**Demyx, that was a joke. That was finishing the quote.

**To: Zexy~<3  
**hah yeah I know that! Sorry lmao, my cousin wanted me for dishes

**FROM: Zexy~<3  
**Did he figure out what a terrible idea that was?

**To: Zexy~<3  
**ye

**FROM: Zexy~<3  
**Before or after you broke something?

**TO: Zexy~<3  
**ye!! :P

**FROM: Zexy~<3  
**Oh Demyx.

**TO: Zexy~<3  
**you missed me!! Admit it!!! :0

**FROM: Zexy~<3**  
Well…  
I admit…

**TO: Zexy~<3**  
:0  
:0 :0 :0

**FROM: Zexy~<3  
**I had thought…

**TO: Zexy~<3  
**:0!!!!!!!!!!!!!

**FROM: Zexy~<3  
**That you might have actually matured a little in our time apart.

**TO: Zexy~<3  
**>:0

**FROM: Zexy~<3  
**Is it sad to say that I’m glad that isn’t the case?

**TO: Zexy~<3**  
:D!  
not at all! That’s tots okay to say

**FROM: Zexy~<3  
**Tots.

**TO: Zexy~<3  
**tots

**FROM: Zexy~<3**  
Is now a bad time to ask about what happened with you and Axel?  
Or is that a conversation better saved for tea and hot chocolate? There’s a coffee shop not too far from my new apartment, if you’d like to meet me there.

**TO: Zexy~<3**  
aw zexy lbr, there’s no good time to ask  
so uh  
basically  
as it turns out, I may have commitment issues?

**FROM: Zexy~<3  
**Hm.

**TO: Zexy~<3  
**and axel… doesn’t

**FROM: Zexy~<3  
**Ah.

* * *

(Things Demyx learned before he broke up with Axel, in no particular order:

One, it was_ really_ hard to avoid someone you live with.

Demyx leaned back against the windows, fingernails digging into his palms. Music swelled somewhere behind him, and he sighed, trying to rid himself of the heaviness that invaded his lungs. Axel was singing off-key but enthusiastically as he cooked dinner, the sound warbling out of the kitchen doors. He was absolutely unavoidable. He was right there when Demyx got home from work, constantly cozying up to him and demanding Demyx’s attention when Demyx just wanted to like, veg out and not think for a while.

Two, his constant presence made it difficult to have a personal, quiet breakdown of a conversation with Cloud.

His phone was clutched against his ear, his nails either in his palms or his still-shower damp hair, fidgeting as he hoped the racket Axel was making was enough to mask his voice.

“So he went ring shopping and… you’re freaking out about it, to summarize,” Cloud said slowly.

“I mean, it’s marriage, right?” Demyx tugged hard on his damp hair, feeling like everything was constantly shifting underneath him. “You’re supposed to be able to say ‘Yes’ or ‘No’ and _know_ that it was the right choice. But I don't know. Maybe? Maybe I want to marry him? But also maybe I don't? My answer is more like "more yes than no" than it is absolutely yes and it _should_ be absolute. I don't want to hurt his feelings. But you do love them, you just don’t know if it’s _right_ because every single bone in your body is screaming that this _isn’t it_, that you shouldn’t… shouldn’t just… give in, you know? But you don’t want to hurt them. Because what if this _is_ it? What if this is all you have?”

Cloud was silent for a long time, allowing Demyx to slowly, shakily regain his center of balance, rubbing at tear-wet cheeks self-consciously even though his older cousin couldn’t see him. “That’s a rough situation, Dem,” Cloud murmured slowly, voice calm. “But there’s much you can do. I mean, Axel hasn’t _actually_ proposed to you yet, has he?”

“No.” Demyx let out a breath, his head thunking into the wall behind him. “No he hasn’t. I’m just… I saw him and Marluxia looking at rings. And we all know that they wouldn’t be for Marly and Vexen.” He laughed a little. “I’m overreacting, aren’t I?”

“A little.” Cloud hummed softly, and Demyx could hear typing in the background, eyes closed. “I mean, it’s understandable. Marriage is a big thing. But you’ve been dating him for how long now? I thought this would be something you'd be excited for. You used to talk so much about getting married.”

“But only ever in the abstract,” said Demyx, and his voice was shaky and he tittered madly, because what was his life when he’s with someone and he couldn’t even_ love_ them properly. "I don't know, it's all screwed up."

And Axel, Axel was losing him, and he didn’t even know about it, did he? With his head up in the clouds and his heart nowhere near the right place. He meant well, Demyx was sure. He always _meant_ well, but Demyx couldn’t live like that, he really couldn’t. Demyx needed his space, needed to not fall into this the way he fell into the rest of his relationship with Axel, taken as the easiest way out and the best way to make someone else happy.

“Have you told him?”

The shape of how terrifying that was doesn’t even fit inside Demyx’s throat, clogging and awful. He shook his head. Cleared his throat when he remembered that Cloud couldn’t see him and said, “No. Not yet, anyway. Soon, I hope. Maybe.”

“Do better than a maybe, Demyx. Everything else aside, he’s still your friend. He deserves your honesty, even when it’s bound to be painful.”

“I know,” he forced out. Closed his eyes and listened to Axel sing in the other room, unaware. “I know.”

Three, Demyx learns that he is a coward through and through because it still takes him three more years to leave, knowing that the relationship is falling apart the whole time and unable to convince himself to take that final step, to hurt Axel, to start the long and difficult process of untangling their lives. To admit that this isn’t what he wanted, and that is enough of a reason to leave in the end.)

* * *

Zexion invites Demyx to get coffee a few days after Demyx messily spills the barest bones of what happened between him and Axel, and Demyx latches onto it like the peace offering he knows it is. Zexion has never been all that good at offering comfort, too aware of boundaries and uncertain of how and when he’s allowed to cross them. As much as Demyx wants to tell him to not worry about it, it’d be fruitless. The world turns, the sun rises in the east, and Zexion worries. 

But something about the easy intimacy of showing up and finding Zexion already seated with a still-warm hot chocolate right in front of him is so reassuring. Zexion still knows that they both don’t actually like coffee, preferring sweeter things (Demyx) or not-boiled-bean-water (Zexion, a tea purist who doesn’t like the mouth-taste of anything so bitter). It’s exactly what Demyx can handle. The understanding.

It helps that Zexion’s face is still so pretty, that his words are so kind.

It helps that when Zexion looks at him, Demyx feels free to be himself. No weight of expectations, just a steady sort of knowledge. There isn't much about him that is a secret to Zexion. Even if he did say something off the wall and bizarre Zexion will just cock his head at him and smile like he’s something remarkable no matter what. And it feels squirmy in Demyx’s chest. Like space. Like room to breathe.

Things are… easy. Not that Demyx really wants to jinx it like that, but there’s no other way to really explain how he feels about it. Meeting at the book store turns into meeting up for coffee, which turns into the occasional text message exchange, turns into phone calls that last hours. Demyx chatters while he’s making dinner and while he’s shooing his cat off the counter to Zexion’s snickering laughter. Zexion rambles about the books he’s reading, the experiments he’s running, and space, which leads them to a local observatory and several enjoyable hours spent staring up at projected stars.

Dinner together becomes routine on Fridays and weekends. Places out that they used to hit up in college together, new restaurants that Zexion’s six year absence has missed, and then, together in Zexion’s shitty little kitchen, barely big enough for Zexion alone to turn around and certainly not big enough for Demyx to be in there too. Demyx is spending whatever time he can with Zexion, just. Basking in the familiar glow of his presence.

It’s nice.

(The knowing looks from Cloud and Leon, the odd pinched-relieved looks from Roxas, are less nice, but Demyx has had long practice with his family thinking they know him better than they do. The teasing isn’t too bad. He can let them have this much.)

This increased intimacy means there are days too, now, where Demyx gets to help Zexion in the ceaseless quest to dye his hair that particular shade of slate grey he’s always preferred.

“Do you have grey hairs under there now?” Demyx wonders.

The corner of Zexion’s mouth quirks in a smile. “I don’t know. It hasn’t been my natural color for years now, and no one has ever stared at my roots long enough to find out.”

Demyx combs his fingers through Zexion’s newly dyed hair again, focused on how the follicles part around his fingertips, soft and lilac colored. Stubbornly, he says, “I’d stare at your roots,” and means so much more than that.

“I know you would,” says Zexion. He pats Demyx on the forearm, lingers like summer, all heat and intent on Demyx’s skin. “I know, Demyx.”

* * *

**TO: Zexy~<3  
**pls save me

**FROM: Zexy~<3**  
This was your own fault.  
Honestly, I don’t know what else you expected from accepting a dinner invitation from Marluxia when you could have been having dinner with me instead.

**TO: Zexy~<3**  
not the third degree!!  
zexy :( :( :( :( :(  
zexxxyyyyyyy  
sexyzexy please help

**FROM: Zexy~<3**  
No.  
Consider it divine punishment

**TO: Zexy~<3**  
QAQ  
I thought u luved me

“Stop looking at your phone for two seconds and _talk_ to me, Demyx,” says Marluxia, and Demyx reluctantly lowers his phone before the three dots from Zexion resolve into actual words.

Honestly dinner with Marluxia isn’t a bad thing at all. Marly just has a tendency to ask questions that Demyx would rather not answer. “I’ve been talking to you this whole time! Just. With a few breaks here and there, that’s all.”

“You’re ignoring me. Don’t pretend. Now, it’s been months, and you haven't invited me out _once_ to hit up a club or bar or something to get your-" "_Marluxia!_" "-mind off of things,” Marluxia says like he didn't hear Demyx's sputtered interruption at all, bringing over a cup of wine. “Please don't tell me you actually believe that drivel about your late twenties turning you into a pod person who only knows how to do your taxes.”

Demyx, hunched over the glass his hands, shrugs. “I don't even know how to do those myself anyway. That's what Leon's for." A quick glance at Marluxia tells him that his deflection isn't enough, and he lets out a heavy breath. "I dunno, Marly. I just haven't really felt like it, y'know?"

“Oh, I’m not here to make you feel bad, Dem. If you feel like you need to take a breather, that's fine. But clubs aren't the only thing my friendship is worth, you know. We can just hang out here, watch a few movies, drink Vexen's expensive wine, paint our nails and such. Is my company truly that bad?”

“Hey don't pull that. Your company is fine. I've just been," and Demyx flounders for a few seconds, increasing warm and increasingly aware of the sharp, knowing delight lighting up Marluxia. He offers weakly, "Busy?"

It isn't enough and they both know it. Nothing is strong enough to get Marluxia's nose for gossip off the scent except an honest conversation about feelings and emotions and Marluxia's attachment to Vexen, all of which Demyx has heard enough about to be allergic to himself. “Busy with what, Demyx?”

"Oh, uh. You know. Things?"

"Things? Like something that keeps you occupied that you don't even make time for an old friend anymore? Or... someone?"

Demyx knows, mortified, that his face is tomato red and there's nothing he can do about it. "No?"

"Demyx."

"Maybe? Look, it's just... so... uh. I've just been hanging out a lot with a friend from college is all. Did you know Zexion was moving back into town?” Demyx asks with a forced casualness.

“Oh really? You don’t say. Zexion, hm? That’s the kid you almost dated in college, right? Why didn’t that happen?”

He very carefully does not choke.

Marluxia shrugs at Demyx’s incredulous look. “You've never been subtle, Demyx. You were ass over teakettle for him for four years before he went off to that job abroad, even while you were sympathy-dating Axel. But you should talk to us, you know, your friends if you’re having problems.”

Demyx bites his lip. “What if I’m not having problems?”

His phone buzzes in his hand.

**FROM: Zexy~<3  
**I suppose you’re not completely intolerable.

**TO: Zexy~<3  
**a truly glowing review from my harshest critic <3 <3 <3

**FROM: Zexy~<3  
**<3

When he looks back up after having a heart attack in miniature over a less-than sign and the number three, Marluxia is watching him with an amused expression. Demyx clears his throat.

"Not having problems?" Marluxia asks, soft and amused, and Demyx can't meet his eyes at all anymore, can't look at his phone to distract himself either. "I wonder about that. What are you two doing? Haven't you liked him this whole time?"

“You know,” says Demyx, like a lying liar who lies, examining the wall over Marluxia’s shoulder, thumb pressing off and on the heart notification, “I don’t really know.”

* * *

This is and isn’t true.

At one point in time, early on in their freshman year when Demyx knew Zexion as his intimidatingly pretty lab partner who he was tentatively starting to call his friend, there was the real possibility of them becoming… more. Demyx listened to a Zexion who chattered about his passions like a flower unfurling to bright sunlight, a Zexion who listened in return and kept his eyes on Demyx even when Demyx was doing something incredibly dumb. There was a nervous anticipation to all of their interactions. The teetering sense of _possibility_. Giddy and indestructible.

And then Axel’s high school boyfriend broke up with him.

Saix left Axel in ruins, citing differing paths and the long distance that suddenly yawned between them. Incompatibilities that hadn’t been so daunting when they could kiss the shadow of doubt out of each other’s faces, young and in love and convinced of their victory, were overwhelming all at once. And with Axel meeting new people, burning brightly in the attention of a new group, Saix couldn’t keep going. They were changing too much, too quickly. They were no longer who they had been, in love.

It was easy, Demyx thought at the time, to comfort Axel however he could. If that comfort was a few kisses, holding hands, curling together in Axel’s narrow bunk and holding him until the tears stopped, then so be it. And if that comfort extended, until Demyx was making Axel laugh and kissing him more and more and his hands and body moved lower and-

Well. Demyx was always convinced of the power of his body to fix any problem he came across.

It isn’t that he never loved Axel. He did! Axel was his best friend. Wanting to make him happy, to make him smile, was just another part of it, a bright ember that boiled inside Demyx with single-minded focus. He wanted Axel to be happy more than he wanted anything else. And that, that was love, wasn’t it?

In all of this, his time with Zexion slipped. Slipped further and further as Demyx kept the precarious balance of Axel’s heart above water. When Axel had a small party in their dorm room, Demyx spent all of it tucked against Axel’s side, checking the room anxiously for any sign of a slender, slate-haired boy.

He met Zexion’s eyes across the room with a shock of recognition.

And a slow awareness of what it looked like, that he was snuggled into Axel’s side, that Axel had been playing with his hand for the last several minutes. A deep pit opened up in Demyx's chest, clogging and tangled. He stood, wavering, made his way over to where Zexion stood frozen against the wall. He got out a breathless, "Zexion, hi," before-

“Zexion! Hey, I’m so glad you could make it!” Axel barreled in, one arm finding its home around Demyx’s shoulders.

And Zexion’s lashes dipped for just a moment as he saw this and took it in before returning to Axel’s face, his eyes crinkling with a faint smile. “I am as well. It’s good to see you, Axel.”

Then, quietly, “It is good to see you both.”

“Babe, I’m gonna be over saying hi to the freshies, alright?” Axel pressed a wet kiss to Demyx’s cheek. “Love you.”

“Love you too,” Demyx said, a reflex. He did not look away from Zexion’s widening eyes.

They stayed locked in place as Axel swanned off, disappearing into the mess of people without any regard to what he left behind.

Demyx’s heart thudded against his sternum, and he lost his grasp on Zexion’s face again, eyes sliding abruptly to the darkness over Zexion’s left shoulder again. “It’s uh. Really good to see you too, Zexion. Uh. Come on in, find yourself a good place to sit and I’ll-“

“You’ll be around,” Zexion finished. The dimple in his cheek mades a quick appearance. “You always are. Don’t let me keep you.”

“Right. Of course not.”

And then he, too, was gone.

And just like that, the moment was broken.

He doesn't remember getting to his room. He doesn't remember closing the door behind him, just the way the sound abruptly cut off, going from cacophonous to merely overwhelming. He does remember the shattered ache in his chest. He didn't know how to explain this, how to make this right so that Axel was happy and Zexion was also happy, and Demyx wasn't caught between them with only one body and one mouth to fix things and one heart to give. He didn't know what to do, he didn't know what to do, he didn't know what to do.

He didn't know what to do except keep going.

Demyx took some time to freshen up (which, honestly, brilliant code for having a shivering pacing fit in your bedroom while every staccato burst of laughter from the living room felt like a bullet through the spine) before he pinned his smile on at the corners again. Went out. Tucked himself into Axel’s side like he didn’t want to be pressing Zexion against the wall and offering an explanation he didn't know how to give. Like there was nowhere else he’d rather be, no matter how much of a lie that might be.)

Needless to say, it didn’t happen. It didn’t happen then, and it didn’t happen in the years following where Zexion was _there_ and Demyx didn’t know how to break out of Axel’s orbit without breaking his heart, and didn’t know if he wants to either. And then they graduate and- It doesn’t happen.

Until, he supposes, it does. Just now. Later than either of them perhaps intended, but.

Now, Demyx lets himself wonder. Lets himself bask in the glory of an unhurried, giddy possibility, and trusts that he'll figure out the path as he goes.

* * *

**FROM: Zexy~<3  
**Are you doing anything tonight?

**TO: Zexy~<3  
**does eating Cheetos in my underwear count as something?

**FROM: Zexy~<3**  
…  
You are a marvel.

**TO: Zexy~<3**  
lol  
nah I’m not doing anything fun  
y?

**FROM: Zexy~<3**  
I was thinking about asking you out to dinner, but now I’m not sure.  
You seem very set on those Cheetos.

**TO: Zexy~<3**  
:00000  
I’m not set on anything!!!!!  
take me to dinner zexy!!!!

**FROM: Zexy~<3**  
Demanding.  
Not even a “please?”

**TO: Zexy~<3  
**please take me to dinner zexy!!!!!!!

**FROM: Zexy~<3**  
Hm… I’m not sure…

**TO: Zexy~<3**  
don’t tease me now!! You said you wanted to!!!!!  
take me to dinner!!!!!!!!!!!!

**FROM: Zexy~<3**  
Then…

**TO: Zexy~<3  
**then???????

**FROM: Zexy~<3**  
Then it’s a date.

**TO: Zexy~<3  
**I

**FROM: Zexy~<3  
**Dress nice, but not too nice. We’re not going anywhere super fancy.

**FROM: Zexy~<3  
**Demyx, are you alright?

**FROM: Zexy~<3**  
Demyx?  
You don’t have to if you don’t want to.

**TO: Zexy~<3**  
NO YOU SAID YOUD TOKE ME TO DINNER

**FROM: Zexy~<3  
**Toke.

**TO: Zexy~<3**  
sHuT UP!  
ssorry don’t actually shut up I love hearing your big brainthoughts  
sorry for being quiet tho I threw my phone across the room and it turned off for a second and I maybaps panicked

**FROM: Zexy~<3  
**Maybaps is a whole new word.

**TO: Zexy~<3**  
cute tho ain’t it??  
lemme typo as I see fit, Zexion

**FROM: Zexy~<3**  
I’ll pick you up at seven?

**TO: Zexy~<3**  
yeah sure!  
see you then!!!!

* * *

Dinner is conveyor sushi, and Demyx delights over the gachapon tokens more than he has any real right to, adding a few extra plates just to get another capsule to Zexion’s amusement. Demyx is jittery and chatty the whole meal, jumping from topic to topic with only the barest threads to connect them, but Zexion is always right there with him, like a steady hand in the small of his back. Zexion traps one of Demyx’s ankles between his own and holds him there. It settles the nerves rattling around Demyx’s bones. Calming. Just holding him steady.

A good thing, really, since every flash of Zexion’s dimple nearly kills Demyx. He’s smiling a lot tonight, so it’s many, many near misses before Demyx is standing by Zexion’s car, full of sushi and fidgeting nervously with his keys.

“It was… This was really nice, Zexion. I really enjoyed myself.”

“You sound so stiff,” says Zexion. “It’s just me, Demyx. Relax a little, will you? I’m glad you had a good time.”

Demyx smiles. His cheeks hurt from how much he’s done that tonight, and he bites on his lips to try and contain the expression. He doesn’t miss how Zexion’s gaze drops to his mouth. Heat floods him. Breathlessly, voice rough, Demyx says, “I really did. It was the best, Zexy.”

“Spending time with you is always the best.”

Demyx’s keys slide from his fingers, gone nerveless and clumsy in the bare affection bleeding through Zexion’s voice.

“You should stay over,” says Zexion as Demyx leans down to get his keys. “At my place tonight. If you wanted to.”

He fumbles them with a loud clatter. Swearing under his breath, he retrieves them and-

“It wouldn’t be the first time we’ve shared a bed.” Zexion’s eyes are dark when Demyx meets his gaze, but they’re warm and unassuming and so safe. “Come home with me, Demyx.”

“Alright,” Demyx says. “Alright.”

Zexion’s apartment is a small, studio affair, longer than it is wide with a waist high wall separating the living area from the bed (_Zexion's bed, _his hindbrain chooses to remind him, fixated and hungry. Demyx does his best to ignore it.) and there are water stains on the ceiling, but Demyx loves it. Every possible inch of the place is covered in books, the walls overtaken by music and movie posters of bands Zexion has seen in concert, and it's so much like his room back in college that Demyx can't help but feel comfortable here. This much is familiar.

"You can get changed in the bathroom, if you'd like," Zexion murmurs, words ghosting against the back of his neck. Demyx fights a losing battle with his shiver.

He squeaks out something that is probably an affirmative, taking the clothes and bolting for the relative safety of the bathroom.

What are they doing?

This is nothing new, Demyx reasons with himself as he strips down. This is... the two of them. Demyx and Zexion. Demyx is staying the night at Zexion's after dinner and-

His hands still on the waistband of his pants, mid-shove down his thighs.

Was this a date?

Demyx, face heating up, leans heavily against the sink as his world kinda shifts a little bit. Hang on. Has this been a date the whole time? There was food, there was flirting (at least on Demyx's part, and there was an absence of harmful vitriol on Zexion's, which is close to the same thing), and now they're back at Zexion's place and-

Demyx doesn't know. He doesn't know, but his entire body is flush with anticipation, with wonder and curiosity, and delight.

If it is a date, he decides firmly -as he finishes donning a pair of too-short sweatpants that stop just above Demyx’s ankles and a huge shirt that reads _“I have no shelf control”_ with a depiction of an overcrowded bookshelf, both of which smell like vanilla and tea and _Zexion-_ Zexion will have to say so. Then, and only then, will Demyx give in to the urge to kiss him. Probably. Hopefully. Demyx has self-control for _days_.

But getting ready for bed beside Zexion is a test of that self-control. A quiet line of tension runs between them, present every time their conversation dips into silence. Demyx's thigh presses against Zexion's as they sit on the couch, close enough to touch and dangerously soft in a pair of glasses that Zexion finally admits to needing when he's at home and contacts have become too much of a burden. The hem of his sweater sleeves fall over his hands. Zexion keeps having to shake them back as he talks, exposing the jut of his wrist and the knobs of his fingers. Demyx feels overwhelmed. Unprepared.

Are they... What are they doing here? 

"Ah," says Zexion, when Demyx has spent too long staring at his hands like a moth drawn to the light. "It's getting late. Come on, Demyx. You can sleep in my bed."

Demyx whimpers.

Zexion cocks his head.

Swallowing, Demyx tries again with his real, human words this time. "I can do what?"

"Sleep in my bed?" Zexion pushes his bangs back from his face in a move that is absolutely devastating to Demyx's continued well-being as a person who is alive. "This couch is alright for sitting, and it's just the right size for me to take a nap on, but someone stretched you at birth and when your back hurts you complain for days. Bed, Demyx."

And then, like he has to brace himself for the truth of these words, Zexion says, "We've shared before."

"Yeah," says Demyx. "Yeah, alright, Zexy. Let's go to bed."

Laying down on the bed and rolling over to face Zexion, he lets out a quivering breath. Meets Zexion's shadow-dark eyes. All new territory, seeing the terrible effect of Zexion’s lashes dipping against his cheeks in the desaturated light of evening. Zexion is so, so warm beside him.

This part is familiar, if only because Demyx has thought about it so much that every permutation of it happening is ingrained on his psyche.

“You’re very tense,” Zexion says. “Is this… did I push too hard? I just thought…”

“No, Zexion, no, I just haven’t shared a bed with anyone since Axel. It’s a bit. Much. I wasn’t expecting this. I wasn’t expecting you.”

A shift of hair against pillows. “Me?”

And Demyx meets Zexion’s distant, steady gaze and pretends he doesn’t remember how Zexion always smiled and listened to his ramblings, or how he always watched Demyx like he was something remarkable instead of a gangly, hyperactive kid desperate for any and all attention be it good or bad. The past spills out silently between them, laid bare in the weight of their connected eyes.

He isn’t surprised that his breaths are unsteady.

He knows how he ended up with Axel, knows that in the shattered wake of Saix and the devastation he left behind Demyx wanted to do nothing more than support his friend however he could. It was easy, so easy, to fall into bed with Axel. Easier still to think he fell in love as well, the comfort of skin and the delight of his company as humor returned to Axel’s eyes. Demyx felt a flutter under his breastbone when he made Axel laugh, when he kissed Axel and pulled back to see an ever-easier smile.

Perhaps he should have made sure that flutter was love and not pride.

“Zexion,” he starts. Then stops, tongue and throat locking up. For all that he babbles incessantly, Demyx only ever says about half of the dumbshit things that come to mind, and even those are failing him right now. Every drag of oxygen is heavy, and he doesn’t know really what to say – which has never bothered him before, but this is _Zexion_ who picks his words with a measured consideration, weighing each one until he’s found just the right one to hold on the flat of his tongue.

Anything less than that same consideration feels like a disservice.

“I just. I feel like I made a mistake, all those years ago. I feel like I shouldn’t be able to look back and know exactly which choice I made that I would redo, that would make everything different afterwards. I shouldn’t be able to see that so clearly.” Demyx scrubs his hands through his hair, scalp tingling hot with the drag of his nails.

Zexion catches his hands. Carefully, achingly careful, he threads their fingers together, squeezing gently. “Roads diverge on paths that we can see clearer once we’ve walked them for a little while, Demyx. You don’t owe me an apology for anything you’ve done.”

“I want to apologize.”

“For making your own choices? I could never ask that of you. Besides. I had important growing to do myself.” Zexion smiles a little, cheek squished by the pillow, darling and something Demyx never thought he’d get to see again. “I’m glad for our break. It led us here.

_"I wanted to see you,"_ he thinks but does not say, dry-eyed because if he blinks, Zexion will surely disappear. _"I wanted to see you so badly I couldn't ever let myself remember you in full."_

Because Zexion, in person, is impossible to forget. Impossible for Demyx to even look at for too long for fear of looking and being rendered unable to move his gaze anywhere else. Demyx knows he looks at Zexion the way most people look at the sun-

(-which is to say as little as possible, but Zexion's presence sends everything else into sharp relief and dizzying, bright colors-)

-and he is so, so warm whenever Zexion is around. Had it always been like this? Had Demyx always kept his gaze somewhere to the left of Zexion's cheek and pretended he was staring him in the eyes? Surely not. But Demyx knows the dimple of Zexion's smile better than the curve of it and as he lifts his gaze to patient blue eyes, Demyx realizes he wants to pay more attention. Better attention.

Demyx clears his throat. Opens his mouth.

A finger brushes his lips, careful and trembling. When he meets Zexion’s eyes, Zexion is solemn. “Don’t say anything you aren’t sure of. Take your time, Demyx.”

He squeezes their joined hands.

“I’ll be right here.”

And that’s what sends a rush of prickles to his eyes, finally overwhelmed, but Zexion is kind enough to let Demyx turn his face into the pillow as he lets out the surge of emotion. It’s dumb, to cry because you feel secure, because you feel safe and wanted, but, well, Demyx has never claimed to be smart.

Hitching a thigh over Demyx's knee, Zexion scoots closer. His palm is hot against Demyx’s hipbone, but it grounds him, anchoring him firmly to the mattress, in this moment. “Just this,” he breathes, nosing against Demyx’s collarbone, like he isn’t sending a cascade of sparks scattering across Demyx's nerves with every touch. “Just this, dearheart. Just rest.”

Just like that, it's easy. Demyx's eyes close slowly, but they keep fluttering open. And every time, Zexion is there. He's there. He's right there, and the glint of his eyes tells Demyx that he isn't the only one still checking until they can't open their eyes anymore. 

When he wakes up the next morning, it is to a mouthful of Zexion’s hair and an unfortunate amount of drool, and Zexion’s puffy, squinty morning face as he glares balefully at any source of light or noise, and Demyx has never felt so safe.

* * *

After cleaning up Demyx’s unmentionable drool puddle (which Zexion does with resigned aplomb. If Demyx didn’t already want to kiss him more than anything else in the world, he’d want to after that), they find a nearby café. Demyx allows himself to flirt gently with Zexion, playing with his fingers and lowering his voice and just-

Laughing together, and it’s so easy. It’s so easy and it lights Demyx up from the inside out but when they get ready to leave, mouths just slightly sticky from syrup-

“Demyx?”

That voice.

Demyx freezes. At his side, Zexion is already turning around, long, cool fingers wrapping around Demyx’s panic-hot wrist, offering Axel a faint nod of his head.

“I thought I saw you,” Axel says with a faint laugh. “Um.”

"Hi, Axel." Demyx swallows. The world is... still turning. Just the same as it has, just a small record scratch to jolt things up a bit. He turns-

When Demyx drags his eyes away from the café wall, he notices several things in quick succession. Axel’s eyes are on Zexion’s hand, holding Demyx’s wrist gently captive. He seems like he hasn’t slept too well, but also like there’s a burgeoning lightness growing within him. He seems, for lack of a better word, happy. Not like Demyx has ruined his life (so it is possible that Demyx overestimated his impact, and he’s _never_ been so grateful to be a side character in someone else’s life). He also seems embarrassed, which doesn’t make much sense until Demyx looks two inches to his left.

And meets Roxas’s startled gaze.

And follows his arm down to where Roxas and Axel’s hands tangle tightly together.

He looks back at Axel, eyes wide, the faintest burblings of a laugh coming up his throat. Demyx covers his mouth, and- He's smiling? His mouth is a smile, that's the shape it's in, and he isn't? Hurting? The way he thought he would. There are nerves, certainly, but when he searches Axel's face, he sees only happiness and feels only the worn-bruise feeling of wanting to put his face in the curve of Axel's neck, where Demyx knows he fits best. Demyx takes a step forward.

(Zexion lets go of his wrist.)

And another step.

Demyx gathers Axel and Roxas into a hug that is more enthusiasm than it is grace, scrabbling for purchase a little, unsure of where his hands should go to convey the confused snarl of feelings he's having. Confusion and glee and delight at seeing Axel again, pain at seeing Axel again. Curiosity and jealousy that isn't jealousy, because Axel isn't his boyfriend anymore and it's been months and he can see who he wants to, but Roxas and Axel didn't say anything, but they're _happy_ and Demyx is happy, but-

"It's so good to see you again," Demyx says, and means it. His voice doesn’t sound quite right. Distant, somehow. Uncomprehending, when, in fact, Demyx comprehends just fine, so he says it again, fiercer, his forehead against Axel's. "It's so good to see you, Axel."

Axel's free hand grips his hip, running warm as always. "Missed you. Sorry, I wanted- Space. I thought I would wait until we were chill again, but-"

"-I missed you too. I missed you so much, Axel, I'm sorry-"

"-Don't apologize, babe, it's- ah, fuck, sorry, it's okay, Demyx, it's okay." A shaky smile that Demyx can only barely see because of how close he is. "It's okay."

Demyx pulls back, enough space to breathe. His eyes sting, he's probably crying a little, but there's an immeasurable _relief_ to just getting to see Axel again and have that band-aid pulled off. His heart didn't jump. He didn't-

Taking a step back, Demyx very deliberately finds Zexion's hand. Zexion stares at him like he's a whole new species of animal, and Demyx grins wide. 

He didn't feel the same way he does when Zexion smiles at him or gathers him close, and as nice as Axel's scent of smoke and citrus is, Demyx finds he much prefers the lighter tones of vanilla and tea, the way Zexion's skin smells when he lets Demyx get up close and clingy.

“Roxas?” asks Demyx.

“Yeah, Demyx?” says Roxas weakly.

Demyx examines him. He doesn’t have to search hard to find a helpless happiness, the way Roxas keeps shifting closer to Axel, and this- isn’t surprising, because Roxas has been sneaking off to hang out with Axel for years now, but the hand holding is new and-

He swallows.

(Curiously, or perhaps not, it still doesn’t hurt.)

“Make sure he’s happy, okay? He’s needy,” says Demyx eventually. “Zexion, let’s-“

And Zexion tugs him out of the restaurant before Demyx can even finish. He doesn’t pay any attention to where they’re going, mind swirling with trying to piece together the timetable of Axel and Roxas. How long has it been? How much have they talked? Does Axel still talk about him? Does Roxas love him? Does he love himself yet?

He isn’t paying any attention at all, which is why he squawks when he’s pushed over onto a grassy hill. Zexion follows him quickly, flinging himself down with no decorum.

Demyx leans back on his hands. The sky overhead is unfathomably huge, distant clouds scudding gently along as they’re pushed by winds Demyx cannot see. They seem so much further away than they usually do, and Demyx’s eyes comprehend the distance all at once before he carefully shuts that thought away, not wanting to get overwhelmed.

“So that,” says Zexion after a long silence, “was fairly awkward.”

That, more than anything, startles a laugh out of Demyx. Once he starts, it’s so hard to stop, cackling on this random hillside with the taste of breakfast and hot chocolate still lingering in his mouth. Demyx laughs until he can’t catch his breath, until the laughter threatens to spill over messily, and he forces himself to breathe, slow and steady, edging back from that tearful ledge. “Awkward doesn’t begin to cover it.”

Beside him, Zexion stays quiet. His gaze is a physical weight but a comfortable one, patient as Demyx gathers his thoughts.

“Y’know, I really should have guessed that he and Roxas were hanging out a lot more than before.” Demyx shakes his head. “It’s been a few months. I live with Roxas still. I should have noticed.”

Then, quietly, “Is it weird? I don’t think I’m reacting the way I should.”

“A few months isn’t much compared to the years you were together,” Zexion says. “If you’re still…”

A quick shake of his head cuts Zexion’s words off. “Not like that, Zexion. Like. The opposite? I am and I’m not sad about it. I want him to be happy. I miss him so bad sometimes, but overall? I feel better outside of our relationship than I did in the last few years inside of it. More like myself. I just really miss him being my best friend more than anything else. He was my friend before he was anything else.”

“He’ll be your friend again, Demyx.”

There isn’t really a way to answer that, so Demyx just hums, letting himself prod at the curled ball of feelings knotted in his chest. It’s hard to unwind them, to identify them as anything other than painful. But somehow, right now, it seems alright. The good kind of hurt. “Did you know that we never even really had an anniversary because we just sorta fell together and started dating without really talking about it? We only noticed when we had already been together like three years.”

Hair falls across his face as Zexion cocks his head. “Did it bother you?”

“Yes, and no.” Demyx sees how far away the sky is again. Still really fucking far out there as it turns out, so he shivers and looks at Zexion, infinitely closer but just as untouchable. Like he’s the axis to Demyx’s asymptote. “Yes, because I wanted a definite day that was ours to celebrate the joy of just getting to be two people who chose to be together. No, because Axel was always my friend before he was anything else. Even while we were other things. I just don’t think he knew that.”

“Too much all at once?”

Demyx nods. “I don’t know. The things I want are hard enough for me to explain to myself, much less anyone else. He wanted everything easy, and I barely know what I want at all.”

Warm fingers wind their way between his own, and Zexion is studiously looking away when Demyx shoot him a glance. “You don’t have to be good at it to explain anything to me, Demyx. We can figure it out together.”

A skip in his heartbeat. A slow, quickening thud as a pleased warmth wriggles in his stomach. Demyx squeezes Zexion’s hand and returns his attention to the sky. Still very far and unfathomably huge, but somehow safer now. Like they can intersect after all. “Yeah. Together.”

* * *

“Please say you’re not mad,” Roxas blurts out first thing as Demyx drops his keys on the counter.

“What, for you making a move on Axel finally? I’m not mad.” Demyx grins and ruffles Roxas’s carefully styled hair. “I’m… If you two are making each other happy, then there’s no way I can be mad. Come on, Rox, I broke up with him because I was miserable. I’m … I’m glad for you.”

Roxas wraps his arms around Demyx, buries his face against Demyx’s shoulder, hot and a little embarrassed. “I like him so much,” Roxas admits into that safe space, and Demyx cups the back of his head, tender and glad for them both. Axel can do with someone as stubbornly loyal as Roxas. “I like him _so much_.”

“Just make sure you tell him so, then. And often. I wasn't joking about him being needy.”

They hold each other for a few minutes, comfortable and safe here, before Roxas pulls away to arch a brow at Demyx. “So you and Zexion.”

Demyx coughs. “So me and Zexion what?”

The brow gets higher. “There was all of that pointed hand-holding. And don’t think I didn’t notice that a certain someone didn’t come home last night.”

“Nothing happened! I just. It got late and we stayed up for a really long time, and Zexion didn’t want me driving home and-“

“So your date was a roaring success?”

And Demyx buries his face in his hands and whines. His cheeks are hot and his face must be cherry red.

Roxas smacks him in the shoulder. “Took you two long enough.”

“Long enough?? It’s only been a few months!”

“I’m just saying,” Roxas says, leaning his face on his hand. “Don’t you think that this has been going on a lot longer than you’re admitting? You used to- You and he used to be inseparable. You know that. You always looked at Zexion like you were in little in love with him. Didn’t you ever wonder?”

(Of course Demyx had wondered. Demyx met Zexion and clicked with him in a way that he doesn’t click with most people, wanting to crawl inside him and live there forever, and time apart hasn’t actually dulled the desire at all.

Demyx remembers Zexion in college in flashes, hyper-focused close-ups of insignificant details. The way, when they met, Zexion had unfurled himself like a flower, talking for hours straight when Demyx expressed the slightest interest in one of the many books Zexion was reading at the time, how the conversation started at lunch and ended at dinner with Zexion slowly becoming aware of how late it was. He remembers Zexion’s slow blush across his ears and nose. Remembers wondering how anyone could mistake Zexion for being quiet.

Remembers Zexion’s feet shoved beneath Demyx’s thigh as Demyx worked through various songs on his guitar, quiet and amused by Demyx’s deliberately off-tone caterwauling. The curve of his smile. The way his eyes crinkled over the rims of his glasses when he watched Demyx do something inadvisable.

He remembers the smell of the night air and the late night walks taken with just the two of them.

Remembers waking up, Zexion’s calf trapped between Demyx’s own. Going back to sleep, comfortable and warm.

Waking up again and wondering -if Demyx tried to kiss Zexion, would Zexion let him? He hadn’t at the time. But Demyx thinks now, with his head resting on his arms as he steadily meets Zexion’s blue gaze, that the answer might be “yes.” Might have always been “yes,” had Demyx only been brave enough for the taking.

Demyx has always wondered.)

“I mean,_ maybe_, I guess,” he starts, and Roxas just laughs and laughs and laughs.

* * *

So staying over once opens the door to staying over more than once, until their Friday dinners come complete with the expectation that Demyx will be dropping off to dreamland with Zexion snuffling in the crook of his neck. Waking up beside one of the most beautiful men he’s ever known makes the clench in Demyx’s chest a nearly constant pain, a sweet aching fact of life.

Except, of course, whenever Demyx isn’t the first one up (which is more frequently than he likes it to be.)

A sharp finger pokes him in the shoulder.

Especially right now.

“Get up,” says Zexion.

Demyx lets out a long string of noises that he hopes get across his general malcontent with this idea and doesn’t let up at all until Zexion smacks him with a pillow. He jolts up to retaliate, but gets distracted by scrubbing off the trail of drool making a mess of his cheek. Real attractive. Good job, Demyx.

“Get up,” says Zexion again, heartlessly. “We have places to be. Sights to see.”

“You are a real asshole when you’re a morning person, you know that, right?”

Zexion smiles beatifically. “Consider it revenge for all the times in college you came to wake me up.”

“You would’ve been late for your classes! It was community service!”

“And this is service right now. Up. Now. Time for ups. Get up.”

Scowling, Demyx allows himself to be chivied off the bed and starts poking around for a pair of pants only to be unceremoniously thwapped in the face with a set of swim trunks. He pulls them down, looks at them quizzically. Zexion doesn’t meet his eyes when Demyx shoots him a curious glance, busy with picking out a few other items, and Demyx-

Well, Demyx just goes with it. Swim trunks it is for the day.

“So, Zexy, where are we going?”

Zexion only says, “You’ll see,” and proceeds to say nothing but that any time Demyx asks, all the way from his bedroom to the car, to the long stretch of road before them. Demyx gives up halfway there. It’s not worth it. Not when a pop song comes on Zexion’s shuffle, embarrassing for all that it’s a seven year old song that Demyx used to sing all the time, and he screeches delightedly through the whole thing. Demyx rolls down the passenger window to feel the wind between his fingers, belting the song and all the ones that come afterwards as the air gets briny and sharp.

Until.

They pass over a tall bridge.

And it isn’t-

It isn’t that Demyx doesn’t know where they’re going. Demyx figured it out ten miles back, when they passed a sign that said the beach was twelve miles further. But that doesn’t change the way his breath catches in his throat at the sight of the blue horizon, escaping beyond view, huge and all-encompassing.

Demyx has known where they’re headed.

He just didn't know when they would get there, guided by Zexion's steady, sure hand, steering them safely towards the shore.

They park. Demyx excitedly shucks his shoes and runs until the surf washes over his ankles. Eventually, Zexion catches up, meandering a bit, taking his time as he usually does, and Demyx takes a breath in, and in, and in, until he's practically ready to fall over with it.

Demyx shoves his feet into the sand. “How’d you know I wanted to see the beach?”

Zexion shrugs daintily, wiggling his feet in the wet sand until they too are submerged. “I didn’t.”

“Bullshit.”

“I really didn’t.” Zexion levels him a solemn, grasping blue gaze, then his whole face crinkles as he smiles. “But there has never been a time I have known you to not wish to be by water, so I figured it was a safe bet.”

It is, in fact, the safest bet of them all. Demyx looks at Zexion, his face limed with the early dawn in all its dear and new creases and divots, and he _wants_.

He won’t let himself second guess it this time.

Zexion jolts when Demyx lurches forward to grab his hands, off-balance from moving out of the sand, and he gets out, “Demyx, what-“ before-

Heart thundering in his throat, Demyx interrupts. “Zexy, Zexion-“

“What, Demyx, what’s the matter? Is everything-“

“Is it too late? Please, I know I took too long and I know I messed up, but-“ and Demyx sucks in a breath that shakes the whole way down, unable to stabilize the yawning core of tremulous gravity that’s taken the place of his heart. “B-but please. Please say I’m not too late for us to try.”

Zexion looks at their joined hands. And because Zexion has always been the more forward of them when it counts, he is steady in every way Demyx isn’t when he asks, “Demyx, what, _precisely_, do you want to try here?”

“Being with you. I want to date you. I missed my chance years ago, I know, and I would never assume that you’ve waited because I know you dated and it would be really, really dumb to wait forever for someone like me and you’re the furthest thing from dumb, but!” Demyx straightens his shoulders, clutches Zexion’s hands like the lifeline they are. “But I still love you like it’s the only thing I’ve ever known how to do, and I was just. Too scared to take any chances before.”

“And you think you’re ready now?”

“I’ve seen what playing it safe will get me.” Demyx swallows. “I like you. I don’t think I’ve ever stopped liking you, even if I sorta forgot in the middle there. If you’d give me a chance, I’d-“

“Demyx,” Zexion murmurs, achingly close and achingly still. “Demyx, be direct. Use your words.”

“Can I kiss you?” Demyx blurts out. It’s nearly a moot question anyway, considering that they’re already nose to nose, that Demyx is close enough to feel Zexion’s breath. One small movement, the slightest shift, and it would be all over. He puts his hand on Zexion’s, lightning seeking the ground. Warm, clammy fingers thread between his.

And Zexion tilts his face to the side, sweetly permissible and so present, brave enough for the both of them when he whispers, “Yes. Please, Demyx, please kiss me. I’ve wanted you to-“

Demyx has kissed enough people, has been kissed enough that the independent act of kissing is no longer remarkable on its own. Its two pairs of lips, it’s intimate, it’s one of Demyx’s favorite things to do in the whole world, but it is nothing new. Except, right now, it is. Everything is new all at once. It is Zexion, and it is Zexion’s mouth that Demyx has never kissed before, and Demyx wants to make this perfect for them both. He goes slowly, testing the chaste contact for the best angle, where their mouths align.

Only. They’re all the best angle? Every moment he is kissing Zexion is the _best_ moment he’s kissing Zexion. Every tilt of their heads, every quiet slide of skin, the way Zexion’s hand curls around his jaw. It’s all the best. Demyx is going to need more superlatives at this rate. Just the exploratory press of Zexion’s mouth, gentle and coaxing, is enough to have Demyx’s brain melt out of his head and down into a syrupy mess in his stomach.

Demyx has kissed many people.

Kisses are pleasant and fun, but routinely unremarkable.

Until it’s Zexion’s teeth tugging on his bottom lip, their fingers still laced together on Demyx’s thigh, apparently, because then Demyx feels like he can barely breathe. Like he’s a goddamned teenager all over again, all eager, clumsy anticipation and no skill to speak of. They kiss with the sound of waves and wind in their ears, everything a little salt-tinged in the best possible way as Zexion bites the swell of Demyx’s lip, as he surges forward and lays tender claim to Demyx’s mouth. Demyx keeps up with more enthusiasm than anything else. But it’s still gratifying to pull back and see Zexion breathing just as hard as he is.

Wind and waves and Demyx’s pulse throbbing in his ears and kiss-sensitive mouth.

It takes Zexion a charmingly long time to open his eyes after they’ve parted, a flutter of lashes as he refocuses on Demyx’s face. His lips are pink and the slightest bit swollen and Demyx wants to taste them all over again but holds himself back because Zexion looks like he’s trying to figure out what to say. A flash of tongue against Zexion’s lip almost breaks him, but Demyx holds strong.

And then, finally, Zexion murmurs, “You’re sure? About this? It's just. you said you had commitment issues, and I don't want this if you're not sure. I've been patient and I'm willing to wait more, but I don't want to be something you regret.”

Demyx hears the weight of years behind the question, turns over all of his shrugs and “yeah I guess”s when asked the same question about Axel until he realized that what they had was going on too long to be so uncertain still and changed the filter on his words. Demyx carefully threads his fingers between Zexion’s long, knobby ones. The tips of his fingers brush against Zexion’s uncalloused palm, warm and soft and oddly vulnerable. And all the while, Zexion watches. Patient.

Demyx takes a deep breath.

“I,” says Demyx firmly, “am not sure about a single thing, my guy.”

Perhaps despite himself, a snicker bursts out of Zexion. Just a quick cough that doesn’t do anything to mask the dimples in his cheek or the way he has to bite his lips to even try to smooth them out of their smile, like Demyx’s irreverence is charming instead of aggravating. “Sorry,” he says, tugging one hand free from Demyx’s to cover his mouth. “You just- You sounded so sincere, I couldn’t-“

“Well good!” Demyx reclaims Zexion’s hand, staring intently into his eyes. “I’m being sincere! I don’t know anything! I’m not sure about jack shit! But!”

And here, the wave of courage and honesty that’s run him so far dries up. And it is just Demyx, standing on the beach. His hands in Zexion’s, his feet buried in the sand as the wind tosses their hair and the sun makes a home against Zexion’s skin. He swallows. Zexion waits, head tilted to the side. Prompts, when Demyx’s heart climbs up his throat to take residence on his vocal chords, “But?”

“I’d rather be uncertain with you and figure it out together than wait until I’ve figured anything out! I… We… You and me, we tried waiting before. Waiting until both of us were certain, or one of us was brave, and I think we’ve done enough of that. I have no clue what I’m doing. I’d just like to be able to kiss you while I fumble along.”

Zexion’s smile is so, so bright, but this time Demyx doesn’t look away to the familiar and dear curve of his dimple, too caught up in his eyes, so, so blue. “I hope you can do better than just fumbling with me, Demyx.”

“_Zexion_, that’s a sex joke!”

“Really? I couldn’t tell. Ah,” Zexion sighs. “I can’t believe I’m going to have to tell everyone that you meme’d at me and I still agreed to date you.”

Demyx sputters. “Well, you don’t have to _tell_ people-“

“Oh no, I absolutely do.”

“This is the worst,” Demyx whines, tugging on his hand, and Zexion, stubborn, does not relinquish it. “What did I ever do to you to deserve this?”

“Made me wait ten years and then meme-d at me when we’re talking about officially getting together?” asks Zexion, one eyebrow raised.

When Demyx tackles him into the sand, he squawks, laughing the whole way down. When Demyx kisses him, a flurry of contacts across his eyes and cheeks and chin and nose and mouth, everywhere Demyx can reach, Zexion goes pleasantly wriggly, his entire body a cradle for Demyx’s heart. And there, by the sea and sand, Demyx lets go. He’s still afraid. He’s always going to be afraid, some part of him looking for the easiest, safest way out, but he’s pretty sure that Zexion is a safe place to land.

“We’re going to have to shower when we get home,” says Zexion breathlessly.

“Oh no,” says Demyx. “A shower. I think I suddenly remember something about a water notice? Let’s save some water together, Zexion. You can get all wet and soapy with me.”

“You have not a single subtle bone in your body, do you?”

“You could actually say I have several increasingly unsubtle bones,” says Demyx delightedly, shifting just to watch the way Zexion’s eyebrows twitch up towards his hairline, a pink flush working its way across his face

Zexion laughs and kisses him again. “Your use of the plural alarms and intrigues me. I suppose I will have that shower with you, if only to find out what you’re talking about.”

“Maybe I won’t give up my potentially alien secrets that quickly, hm?”

“Then I’ll have to stick around until you do.” Zexion smiles up at him, fingers locked at the nape of Demyx’s neck, that self-same easiness and willingness to listen, to entertain all of the odd turns of Demyx’s mind still present, and Demyx _loves_ him. “Hopefully you’ve gotten better at keeping secrets from me. I don’t want to leave too soon.”

Demyx’s mouth is dry. He laughs, burying his forehead against the curve of Zexion’s throat. He is held here by Zexion’s hands and his body beneath Demyx’s, and the ocean is nearby, and his heart is uncertain and excited, and Demyx is home. “I’ll make some up. Just to keep you around.”

Zexion’s smile breaks open as he admits, “I would stay anyway, Demyx. I would always stay.”

* * *

(Years later, Axel will look at him curiously, fingering the small black box tucked into his palm as he waits for Roxas to show up, and ask “Why didn’t we ever get married?” and Demyx will stare him straight in the face and, with no small amount of surprise lacing his voice, admit:

“I would have married you. If you had asked, I would have.”

Axel will bark out a short laugh. The door will open, and Axel will turn to Roxas like its reflex, happiness lighting his face, and he will say, “I’m so glad I never got around to it.”

And Demyx, hand in hand with Zexion, who is gesticulating with increasing fervor as he argues the finer points of theoretical lobster immortality with an amused Saix, seemingly unaware that Demyx’s hand is along for the ride, will just laugh as well and nod and say, “Me too. Best ship jump I’ve ever done.”

“Thank god for your cold feet,” Axel will say as he stands, and the conversation will end there. They will be friends once again, and Demyx will be in love and safe, and when Axel gets down on one knee, there will be no panic. Only warmth and love, and Zexion’s hand joined with his in the end as they watch Roxas punch Axel in the shoulder before collapsing into him with all the inevitable relief of a star gone supernova.)

**Author's Note:**

> _As for Love,_
> 
> _forget everything you’ve been told._
> 
> _Love is the one thing you can keep for the rest of your life._
> 
> _Don’t be terrified of what your heart still feels._
> 
> _Love never made anybody weak, never lured anyone back _
> 
> _to a place of hurt. I promise, no matter what you think, _
> 
> _it is never Love that does that._
> 
> \- Andrea Gibson "Love note for the leaving"


End file.
